Kindred in Apathy
by Calasse
Summary: SLASH! Time warp. Restlessness plagues Harry after defeating the Dark Lord. He gets cursed by a strange wizard, and gains the ability to transport his consciousness to another world during his sleep. There, he hunts the pieces of Voldemort's soul and puts them back together. What happens when the hero finds his interactions with his enemy in his dreams better than reality?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: _What do you do when you can't find a reason to live for?_ Harry realizes that peace does not come in the absence of a certain Dark Lord. He gets cursed by a strange wizard, and acquires the ability to transport his consciousness to another plane of existence during his sleep. There, he hunts the pieces of Voldemort's soul and puts them back together. What happens when the savior of the wizarding world finds that his interactions with his previous mortal enemy in his dreams are better than reality?

Warnings: EWE, alternate universe - canon divergence, time warp, parallel universes, het and slash relationships, some F/M and M/M non-graphic sexual scenes (though some of them may get a bit intense when we reach the HPLV/TMR parts), violence, gore, dubious consent, implied/referenced non-con, Not Quite Infidelity, mental instability, ooc, "amorality", Black and Gray Morality, Morality Kitchen Sink, Crapsack World, significant character deaths*, general dark themes that one can expect in this kind of fiction, trigger material.

Pairing: HPTMR/HPLV

*Everything happens for the development of the plot, of course. Over the course of the story, you will see why this particular warning gets a special mention.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. This author does not claim ownership over the series, the cover image or any other recognizable elements in this story. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from this work. If there is anything in this piece of fiction that might offend the sensibilities of any reader, kindly send me a message and I will gladly put up an appropriate warning if warranted.

A/N: Any future unedited chapters that may contain fully graphic intimate scenes will be cross-posted at AO3. Nevertheless, I hope you all read and enjoy!

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Kindred in Apathy

a harry potter ficlet

Chapter One

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_Click_.

A pen is maneuvered smoothly by long, calloused fingers. The twirling stops, and the flat of the thumb is placed on the button.

_Click_.

The routine starts again. The slender pen spins from the little finger, to the ring finger, to the middle finger, along the index finger, and finally, around the thumb. The hand stills, the large palm firmly clutching the cylinder, before the thumb presses on the button again, retracting the point of the pen; making a sharp, clean,

_Click_.

Repeat.

A heavy sigh rustles a few leafs of paper on the desk, disturbing the perfect stillness of the room. The hand relaxes its hold, releasing the pen and letting it tumble and roll away. It clatters with the rich wood of the desk, but the noise doesn't awaken the owner of the hand from his daze.

The young man closes his eyes. His hand comes up to run down his face wearily, before he blinks bright forest green eyes open. He stares off into distant space, the quiet ticks of his wall clock heard in the silence.

His mind is an overworked machine; one that never seems to want to stop, however tired he is. The cogs and gears continuously turn, almost worn out by the absence of oil that is sleep. He has not been able to catch a good night's rest for several weeks, now. Even with his girlfriend's comforting presence beside him in bed, it was still difficult to shut down his mind and just rest. It was only when he exhausts himself so much that he falls asleep, unrepentant against the soreness and heaviness of his limbs. Too many thoughts churn in his mind; too many memories, too many scenarios.

After five years, one would think that the Boy Who Lived had accepted, if not overcome, the terror and hardships that defined most of his past. Five years is enough time to grieve and mourn the loss of loved ones, the naive would say; to make amends with enemies; to heal and build on the hope of a future free from war. While he didn't have children of his own, yet, he had Ginny—a wonderful, loyal, beautiful young woman who has helped him greatly in his struggle to forgive the past and face the future; a work in progress, still, but Ginny often comments that he is improving.

Harry wonders if he is truly improving, or just improving on deceiving.

Instead of feeling the long expected peace that should come with Voldemort's defeat, the peace that has apparently come to most of his comrades and to the rest of the wizarding world, what Harry feels is pure, irritating, inexplicable... _restlessness_.

There is tension permeating his body, settling deep into the marrow of his bones, and Harry simply cannot shake it off.

After the war, he finished his seventh year in Hogwarts with the rest of his batch mates. There were a lot of both funerals and celebrations to attend, however much he didn't want to, but they kept his mind off and unaware of the eventual agitation that will take hold of his consciousness. Upon graduating, he threw himself into the Auror Program, without time for rest or vacation. Hermione and Ginny had tried relentlessly to convince him to pause and take respite, but their efforts only pushed him to isolate himself further and bury himself in work. He maintained his contact with them, of course, visiting Ron and Hermione and what remained of the Weasley family when he had the time, and arranging dates with Ginny, but most of his days were spent training to join the rehabilitated force of the Ministry Aurors.

His mind was a jumbled mess then, confused with the lack of the danger that has chased his heels ever since he was but an infant. He did not like to sit still for any extended period of time, lest his consciousness retreat to the depths of his mind and his inner demons consume him. He needed the work like he needed oxygen, if only to distract himself from what really needs his attention the most.

Harry wonders if there is something horribly wrong with him, that he has difficulty in finding peace after the death of the sole individual that has ruined a large period of his life, when it should have been the opposite.

Even in this, Harry thinks bitterly, he is different.

Three years after entering the Auror Program, he graduates for a second time. It was thrilling, at first. There were still plenty of Dark wizards that fled from the scene of the war but had supported Voldemort nonetheless, and Harry and his team efficiently apprehended them. The Wizengamot's hands were full of trials for the individuals, determined to build the wizarding community better with less hazards in society.

With what they believed was the last of Voldemort's forces tried and imprisoned, however, came the quiet. The unsettling quiet that creeps over Harry's entire being almost all the time now, demanding and pulling his attention to that indescribable _itch_ underneath his skin. Harry desperately tries to search for something, anything, to relieve him of that itch; a solution that can finally give him the peace of mind that he has craved all his life.

Harry can't even understand why he has this—this _tension_. There is no other way to describe it. Everything in his life has been going so well, paradoxically _too well_ in contrast to his past experiences. He has his friends, Ginny, the second highest position at his dream job, and the permanent absence of a particular Dark Lord in his life.

He couldn't fathom why his life now feels so, inexplicably... empty.

Harry doesn't even want to acknowledge the possibility that he might miss _him_, and the thrill that comes with everything concerned with _him_. He isn't that deprived.

_Oh, really?_ a sinister voice in his mind interjects. The corners of his lips twist down into a scowl.

Yes, really.

Harry shakes his head and turns his thoughts to Ginny. Ginny is the perfect girlfriend. They share similarities that might seem grim to others, but they are similarities that had brought them closer to one another. They both share a traumatizing connection to Tom Riddle; to Voldemort. They both lost loved ones to the cruel regime of the monster of a man. They both fought tooth and nail to reclaim the stability that the wizarding world had desperately needed. And along with those, Harry believes that Ginny possesses the light that can successfully help him up from the darkness that has surrounded him ever since he could remember. Ginny has both the understanding and strength to keep him stable and happy. It's with her that he sees himself building the ideal future that he has always yearned for.

Yet, Harry finds himself frightened at the prospect of dragging Ginny into a future with a man who is so troubled with his past. His restlessness stays his hand, his wish to bind himself to her in marriage and consequently, pull her into a relationship that both of them may later regret.

On the other hand, physical intimacy between them has never been a problem. Before his hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes had started, the stress of the war and the constant, thick hostility in a place that he has called home ever since he was an eleven-year-old dragged Harry into a hole of despair and hopelessness that he couldn't seem to get out of. His only respite was the comfort Ginny provided with her touch. Sex is also one of the outlets for releasing the constant tension in his body; but lately, even that isn't enough.

Harry releases a sigh once again. A knock against his office door startles him from his musings. He clears his throat and answers, "Come in."

"Mate, our shift's on." Ron pops his head in, grinning unassumingly at the black-haired man. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he mutters, grinning weakly back. He cranks his neck from side to side, hearing the expected _crack_ and grinning more genuinely when Ron cringes and makes a face at him. Harry laughs, stands up, and smooths down his uniform robes. "Need to work out some. Everything's been so boring lately," he comments.

"You always say that," Ron accuses harmlessly; nonetheless Harry inwardly flinches. When even Ron can so easily call him on his restlessness, then he wasn't doing as much of a good job in hiding his unease as he thought he was. He definitely needs to figure out his problem before it worries the people around him seriously.

They go out of the small office. Harry locks the door with a flick of his wand, feeling the wards bend then slot into place, before tucking the wand in his holster and following swiftly at Ron's heels. They walk through the aisles separating the open cubicles that comprise the Auror Office. He checks the time when they pass a wall clock and almost stops in surprise when he realizes that he's been lost in his thoughts for almost two hours. There is nothing for it; clearly, it's necessary for him to find another outlet, instead of wasting precious time whiling away and doing nothing but wallowing in ennui.

Hopefully, this patrol throughout a wizarding community near the outskirts of Britain will prove interesting.

They arrive at the Apparition ports, nodding to the other members of their unit. There is Adrian Pucey, who is their senior by two years. Harry remembers him as the Slytherin Chaser who didn't play as foully as the rest of his team. He also wasn't involved in the war, as far as Harry could recall. Pucey is a decent Auror. He has good reflexes and a rather extensive repertoire of spells, and he wasn't squeamish about apprehending previous Housemates when they were on their past missions.

There is Fay Dunbar, the only witch in their unit. She was one of the few females in Hogwarts who were outspoken in their wish to become an Auror. Harry remembers sharing his N.E.W.T.-level classes with the steadfast girl. Dunbar has gone a long way from the excitable, brash, tomboyish Gryffindor girl and has transformed into a committed and dependable woman who is firm in her job as an upholder of the law.

The last person to complete their five-membered unit is, surprisingly enough, Marcus Belby. The unassuming and rather unremarkable Ravenclaw that Harry remembers seeing in Professor Slughorn's parties has turned into a robust, strong young man. It was difficult at first to reconcile the well-formed man with the memory of a fairly healthy boy who hid behind mountains of pies. Nevertheless, Belby is almost the perfect antithesis to the brains-or-brawn stereotype, and this attribute has served their team well during stealth, recon and undercover missions.

They all enter the ports separately, their red robes flaring as they turned on their spots and Disapparated with a _crack_.

The Aurors arrive at their destination with little trouble. Harry straightens fluidly, sharp eyes surveying the village beyond the forest edge they were currently hidden behind. It is as the mission report showed: a quaint little community with square houses and a small shopping center half a kilometer away. He couldn't see anything that could call for the presence of Aurors. They were only there for their afternoon rounds to ensure the safety of the civilians.

For a moment, Harry lets disappointment course through his veins before he squashes it. The safety and security that peace lends to these people are definitely worth more than a skirmish that he can let his frustrations out on. He shouldn't be disappointed. He shouldn't be disappointed at all.

_And yet, you _are, the sinister voice in his head accuses gleefully. _You would rather have Death Eaters running around and wreaking havoc in this peaceful little village, killing innocent people, just to have something to vent your agitation on. Isn't that what you really want, Harry?_

It's times like this that Harry doubts his sanity, and considers the possibility of Voldemort's Horcrux still residing within his mind.

_You aren't as golden as you make them believe._

Harry reinforces his Occlumency shields, blocking out the voice that has haunted his mind since after the war. It wouldn't do to get distracted on a mission, even one as simple as this. He'll deal with his personal demons after in the privacy of his home.

He signals his team forward, walking ahead with wide, unhurried strides. A calm washes over him, as it always does when he's on assignment. His job is one of the reasons that he's kept his head on his shoulders these days. Without it, well...

Harry doesn't want to think about the possibilities.

"You know the drill," Harry says crisply. "Pair off, patrol around and report at the first sighting of anything suspicious or unusual. I'll follow shortly." He watches as they all nod in affirmative and walk away, Ron with Dunbar and Belby with Pucey.

He locates the distinct station of the resident Auror in town. Having local Auror offices in isolated communities is a new addition to the Ministry system. It's always better to have a handful of trained wizards near to protect the civilians from any imminent danger. Harry himself was assigned on rota to some villages he'd never been to before in his second year in the force. He was only crossed off the rota when Head Auror Gawain Robards promoted him to Assistant Head earlier this year.

He enters the simple, almost unfurnished brown building. He steps onto the wooden planks and turns, spotting the red-robed wizard immediately. "Auror Williamson," Harry greets amiably.

Williamson stands up from his desk, his long ponytail swishing from the sudden movement. "Potter! To what do I owe the pleasure?" He swipes his sweaty hand down his robes before offering it to the dark-haired man. Harry clasps the man's hand firmly before letting go, wandlessly and nonverbally drying off his moist hand afterwards.

"Just the usual, Williamson. Anything significant to report?" Harry asks.

"Nah, nothing of the sort. Everything's been a bit peaceful lately. Too peaceful, to be honest. It doesn't help my old bones from crumbling to dust with disuse," Williamson replies, grinning crookedly at the younger wizard.

Harry chuckles in agreement. He studies the older wizard in front of him. Wrinkles had deeply set in the older Auror's face, likely due to his line of work and the stress of the past war. The gray hairs in his long mane are generously sprinkled, leaving only a few auburn strands to brightly shine through and offset the monochrome tone his head had adapted. An ugly scar runs from his jaw to the collar of his robes, probably running even farther than what's exposed. He was aging fast, appearing far older than what his age really is.

_Will I even get to that age?_ Harry muses, if a bit detachedly. _With everything that's been happening to me lately... Or rather, what's _not _happening..._

He'd go insane.

He blinks off his daze, before nodding to the other Auror. "I'll be around. Alert me if anything is amiss."

"Aye, Potter."

He exits the office quickly, wanting to get away from the presence of the old Auror and what thoughts he invokes in him.

He proceeds to the shopping center. It is a quaint, modest place that takes more after a miniature Hogsmeade than a Diagon Alley. Most of the shops are still open, selling products ranging from fresh wet goods to tailored cloaks and robes. People are milling about, creating a mild hustle and bustle that belies the normalcy and monotony of a common afternoon.

He walks around, weaving through alleyways and checking any hidden nook where a criminal would normally take cover. There isn't anything out of the ordinary, and the tediousness of the patrol makes even the usual calm Harry feels thin and waver.

He leans against the wall of a homely café, one leg propping him up and hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers where his outer robe falls open. He keeps silent, brilliant green eyes watching the wizards and witches around him idly.

Suddenly, a little boy comes up to him. He looks to be around six or seven-years-old, very short compared to Harry's very tall stature, with a pale complexion, wavy, tousled dark hair and bright slate eyes.

Harry straightens himself up quickly, his left hand falling to his side while his right hand grips his wand tightly. His green eyes are sharp and a little disbelieving, as he stares intently at the child who looks so much like a little version of _him_.

Memories of an orphanage and a little boy with a sinister glint to his intense slate eyes flash by in Harry's mind's eye.

Harry's heart rate picks up.

"Um," Harry clears his throat, "hullo there. What can I help you with?"

The little boy tilts his head to the side, staring curiously up at the tall wizard. A beatific smile graces his lips and he answers, "Hello, Harry."

Harry's heart stops cold, eyes widening in shock.

_It couldn't be_.

Time slows as his vision narrows down into just the young boy in front of him. Harry swallows hard, his heart coming alive and beating faster than ever, his grip on his wand tightening almost painfully.

The little boy's smile falters slightly, before it fully morphs into a concerned frown. "Are you alright, Mr. Potter? You are Harry Potter, right sir?" the boy asks hesitantly, hopefully, biting his bottom lip, slate eyes wide and confused.

The reply returns time into normal working order, and Harry's vision clears. _He just recognizes me, that's all. Of course, because I'm bloody Harry Potter_. Harry swipes his tongue over his suddenly dry lips, shaking himself out of the stupor he went under. He smiles shakily at the little boy. "I'm fine, thank you. Yes, I'm Harry Potter."

The beatific smile returns to the boy's lips. He beams up at Harry and exclaims, "Thank you for saving us during the war, sir! We were safe from... from—_You-Know-W-Who..._ because of you." The boy shivers as if in fright at the thought of Voldemort. The smile returns to his face again when he says, "My mama said that when I see you, I must give you a really big, tight hug!"

The boy's enthusiasm shakes off the last of Harry's doubts. _Don't be a bloody pillock_, Harry scolds himself, trying to calm down. _He's dead. Him being alive... is just me being nuts and too paranoid for my own good._

He chuckles a little and crouches down when the little boy offers his arms upwards. The boy wriggles in his hold for a moment, his too short arms trying to get around Harry's frame before giving up and just slumping forward into Harry's chest. Harry watches the boy in amusement, staying in the embrace for a while before pulling away.

"What's your name?" Harry asks.

"My name is To—"

Harry's heart seems to like stopping, this afternoon.

This boy is _definitely_ not good for his health.

"—rian Miller, Mr. Potter," the boy finishes.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief. "That's a very handsome name, Torian." He pats the soft waves on the boy's head. "Now, be a good boy and go back to your mum. She'd certainly be worried about your disappearance."

As if on cue, a worried voice cries out to them, "Oh, _Torian!_ I thought I lost you!" A beautiful woman runs towards the boy. Torian turns ashamedly to his mother, muttering an apologetic, "Sorry, mama," before beaming and tugging the woman to Harry's place. "I met Harry Potter!"

The woman turns grateful eyes to him and says, "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I hope he didn't trouble you too much. My boy tends to be quite adventurous when we go out. It's a relief that you're the one that has piqued his curiosity this time. If it were anybody else..." the woman trails off worriedly.

Harry shakes his head and offers a mild smile. "It's fine, ma'am." He crouches down once again to be level with the little boy. "Torian, don't approach wizards that you don't know, okay? There are some dangerous strangers out there, and your mum and the Aurors cannot always be around to save you in time," Harry says firmly. "Promise me?"

"I promise, Mr. Potter!" the boy responds solemnly, before coming forward again and giving Harry a quick, tight hug. "Thanks again, sir!"

Harry waves as the mother and son walk away. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, before eyeing the setting sun and deciding to do one more round of the shopping center.

°.

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In his way back to the village, Harry replays the events that happened that afternoon. More importantly, he examines the rush of emotions that went through him when he met the peculiar little boy.

Torian reminded Harry of a little Tom Riddle. The resemblance between the two is uncanny. But at a closer examination, Torian's face was a little rounder, his mouth a little thinner, his hair color a little lighter, and his eye color a few shades off. There was also the absence of the intelligent, yet cruel spark in his eyes that Tom Riddle has always harbored, even when he was just a child.

What he felt when he was confronted by the little boy, with the almost casual tone Torian had uttered his first name with, combined with his familiar features... it wasn't panic, nor was it fear.

It was excitement.

And Harry doesn't quite know what to make of that.

°.

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ϟ

. . .

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End A/N: Not much dialogue in this chapter, but I wanted to set the stage and orient you guys as to where we are in canon timeline. I wanted to stay true to the details in canon, but I've adjusted a few to suit this fic's plot (not too significant, anyways). There's also the matter of Harry possessing a muggle pen. I find it ridiculous that the wizarding world uses quills instead of practical ballpoint pens, however cool quills are. (I'm also perfectly aware of the existence of special quills that are charmed to do who-knows-what.) For the sake of the chapter's beginning (and a small way to introduce Harry's restlessness—which we'll definitely see more of in the next chapters), Harry in this universe possesses a few muggle pens.

I want to hear what you guys think of this new project. :D I know I should be working on my other fics, but this won't just leave my mind. Believe me, I'm trying to finish the new chapters to MG and wlgld. Hopefully, I'll be able to upload them soon. Life since 2011 has been a crazy roller coaster ride, and I'm really sorry for leaving the fics on hiatus for such a long time. I don't want to be one of those authors who leaves their fics unfinished, and I'll definitely finish anything that I'll put out here. Hopefully, during my break I can write out a good length to build up my buffer before I dive into med school.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all, thank you to all those who reviewed and added this story to their alerts and fave lists! I humbly appreciate all the response this little fic got. On another note, this chapter is not as long as the previous one, but it felt right to end it there. I hope you guys enjoy it!

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Kindred in Apathy

a harry potter ficlet

Chapter Two

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When they get back to the Office, Harry promptly debriefs his team, then he secludes himself away in his little workplace. He immerses himself into accomplishing all the paperwork he has neglected earlier in the day, pushing all thoughts of that afternoon behind tightly closed doors in his mindscape.

He won't think about that.

He _can't_ think about that.

Dangerous thoughts.

Too dangerous.

Harry can't afford to lose himself to memories of what-was and the futility of what-could-have-been. He's just clawed out of that dark place. What's left of his hold on his mind and his control on _I want_ and _I shouldn't want_ will not withstand a second trial. There isn't enough left of him to be strong; not after over two decades of barely holding on, not when it involves _him_.

Harry shakes his head, his eyes shut tight against the world.

_Too dangerous._

(Suddenly, a little boy comes up to him. He looks to be around six or seven-years-old, very short compared to Harry's very tall stature, with a pale complexion, wavy, tousled dark hair and bright slate eyes.

_He sits stiffly upon his thin mattress, gazing with wary slate eyes at the strangely dressed man._

_"Hello, Tom," the man greets, if a bit more reservedly than how he usually does it, Mrs. Cole's fierce utterances about the boy lingering in his mind, "I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore."_

_The boy's form is tense with hostility. He is too small for his age, too thin as well. "Professor?" the child scoffs, a dark expression coming over his handsome features. "You're from the mental hospital, aren't you? They sent for you, didn't they? Well, I'm not coming with. I am not crazy! I've told them a million times. I'm not going to an asylum."_)

He digs his nails into his palms to bring himself back to the present, before stretching his fingers out, shaking uncontrollably. He desperately tries to focus back on the mission reports in front of him. His suddenly clammy hands shuffle the papers, looking for anything to distract him from the lane of memories his mind has stupidly dived into. His brilliant green eyes listlessly scan the blurring blocks of words in front of him, trying to find something, anything interesting. Despair overwhelms him when he finds nothing. Why is there nothing? Nothing of _him_—

_There's nothing!_ Harry frantically screams in his head. His fingers grip the stack of papers mercilessly, crumpling the sheets of parchment and almost tearing a few when he twists them in his hands. His muscles are spastic with the clenching of his fists, cords along his arms visible and stark in his tension.

A choked shout of frustration escapes his throat, almost keening in its restrained distress.

Nothingnothingnothing—

_Krsh!_

The glass face of his wall clock shatters loudly. The sound startles Harry out from his spiraling craze, and he wakes up groggy, disoriented, feeling as if he has been Apparating for most of the day and has only landed at his destination now. It takes him minutes to come down from the height his emotions had taken him to. He fights down the burning, sick feeling climbing up his chest and throat. He blinks his eyes clear of the liquid that he hadn't felt flowing down his cheeks, and he blinks them again to clear them of rage and all those negative feelings that threatened to consume him—nearly consumed him—just a while ago. He opens his clenched fists slowly, flexing his muscles, releasing the tension along his limbs.

A self-deprecating laugh bubbles out of his mouth unwittingly, and a part of him is grateful that his wards are imbued with a muffling charm.

The people outside will think him crazy.

He probably is.

He slumps forward onto the mess on his desk, spent and just... sad.

°.

.▿

ϟ

It's late when Harry arrives home to the aroma of warm dinner. His nose leads him to the kitchen, where he finds Ginny standing over the stove, waving her wand as she directs the canisters of toasted spices floating above the pot, carefully measuring the amount put in. Harry waits until the canisters fly back to their shelf before he circles his arms around the petite redhead's waist. He buries his nose into her hair, inhaling the sweet fragrance Ginny sprays lightly everyday onto herself, and a scent that is distinctly _her_. He then tucks his chin near the crook of her neck, peering over Ginny's shoulder to look at the contents of the pot.

"Smells delicious, love," Harry murmurs into her ear, nothing of the earlier episode's effects evident on his persona. It is strange that he doesn't feel the need to confide in Ginny, nowadays. He would have opened up before, back when nothing made sense after the war, almost always instantly; shaking with the emotional scars the war has carved into him. But now, he can't bring himself to burden Ginny more than he has, after all her efforts to bring him out of the slump he was in.

_I'm getting worse_. He had long realized this simple, irrefutable fact. Once he understood what it implied, however, Harry also realized that he shouldn't concern the others around him. It was plainly for the best.

Ginny hums, stirring the contents of the pot with a wooden ladle, before turning in his arms and looking up at him. She leans up to his face, offering him a long, affectionate kiss. She pulls away a few moments later, despite Harry's advance.

"Later with that, Harry!" she reprimands, giggling, trying to turn away from the dark-haired man's persistent kisses along her neck.

Harry offers one last nip behind her delicate ear before pulling away reluctantly. A smirk lifts the corner of his lips as he sees the redhead's blush. "That's going to get burnt, Gin," he laughingly says, pointing to the pot.

Ginny turns red to the tip of her ears, hurriedly attending to her cooking and putting out the fire a minute later. She shoos Harry away to prepare the table while transferring the stew into a large bowl.

They both sit down to eat, silence permeating the atmosphere comfortably for the first few minutes. After a while, Ginny looks up from her plate, swallowing the portion of food in her mouth. "How was your day?"

Harry doesn't bat an eyelash in answering. "The usual. Did a patrol around a small village, got to see Williamson."

Ginny's eyes light up in recognition of the old Auror. "Oh! Is the coot doing well? I haven't seen him since St. Mungo's!"

"He is," Harry confirms, tearing off a piece of meat from the chunk speared on his fork. The last time the redhead had seen the old Auror was probably when they visited St. Mungo's Hospital a few days after the final battle, checking on those who were alive and recovering. Williamson was one of the people rushed into the intensive care unit, having suffered severe wounds around his upper torso caused by successive hits of vicious Dark magic.

His toes curl in anticipation for the question Ginny unfailingly throws at him after every single day.

A short silence comes upon them before the redhead speaks. "No incidents today, love?" Ginny asks, feigning nonchalance as she tries to keep the concern out of her voice.

Harry finishes chewing, swallows, then throws her a warm, indulgent smile. "No incidents today," he replies with a cheery buoyancy that he doesn't really feel. _None that you should concern yourself with, anyways_, Harry adds to himself, but doesn't dare to voice out.

"I'm glad." Ginny beams, a small hand laying upon his own on top of the table, and Harry feels horrible with the feeling of relief that enters him with her easy acceptance.

When Harry slides himself into Ginny that night, he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the absolute trust in her own brown ones. He gives himself wholly to the lust and the heat, chasing after an orgasm that doesn't feel as gratifying as it was before.

To Harry, the love is there, even if the passion isn't. Most of the time, he deludes himself into thinking that it would be enough. On days that he's thinking wiser and more realistically, Harry knows that it isn't.

Afterwards, he falls beside Ginny, exhausted but calm. Harry doesn't even try to stave off the dreams of cruel, crimson eyes that sometimes flicker to dark, intense slate. He isn't even sure if he wants to.

°.

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. . .

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A/N: Please review! It greatly helps me to write when I see that someone takes a short time to let me know that they appreciate my work. Or take it to another level—I encourage everyone to review all the stories (even those not my own) that deserve a comment or two. :) Every author in this community needs a little push for her or him to create a story and bravely post it on the internet, in spite of the negative reception it might garner (or what it won't, which I believe is worse).

The slash is still far away, but Harry would get to see Tom very, very soon. ;) How do you think would Harry react to him?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: As always, I would like to thank everyone who showed support for this little fic. I've been a fierce fan of this ship ever since its earliest sail, when all FFN had to offer were some measly twenty stories and no one can find two cents on the pairing out on the world wide web, so I want to contribute something to the fandom that I myself would read.

Notable Warnings for the chapter: heterosexual intercourse (a ridiculous warning, but this is for those who prefer to see only M/M sex in slash stories), use of a derogatory word (because really, writing straight smut is hard enough without having to think of other ways to express vagina).

The ellipsis ( . . . ) indicates the cut. Fully graphic chapter will be up on AO3. Check my profile for the link. And for the love of all things good, if you're a kid, _don't_ read it.

I hope you all enjoy this newest installment!

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Kindred in Apathy

a harry potter ficlet

Chapter Three

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Harry wakes up to sunlight in his eyes. He grunts in irritation as he feels around for the wand under his pillow, gripping it loosely and flicking the holly stick to spell the drapes shut. Darkness invades the bedroom in silence.

He settles into the warmth of the bed once again, tucking his wand back under the pillow. His arm shoots out to curl around Ginny's petite waist, tugging the woman's body closer to his. He feels Ginny's soft curves meld with the firm planes of his body, her naked skin smooth to his touch.

His mind goes back to the incident yesterday, anxiety worming its way into his chest. Harry wonders if an episode will happen again.

'_I hope not._'

After a few minutes of gently circling his thumb on the unmarred skin of her navel, and finding himself unable to fall back into sleep, Harry starts trailing his fingers across the expanse of Ginny's stomach. He traces a finger along the circle of her bellybutton, dipping it into the shallow crevice a few times, before slowly, indulgently, skimming upwards; to the dark areola surrounding her perk nipple.

With mute fascination, Harry presses the pads of his index and middle finger down onto Ginny's breast, watching as the nipple burrows into itself before popping back out after the pressure has been removed. He treads the two fingers around the mound, imagining them to be the legs of a man traversing the terrain of a woman's body. He walks the fingers down to the valley of Ginny's breasts, before gently traipsing up the other side, granting the other nipple with the same treatment as the first one received.

The pale breasts are moderately sized. Firm enough and not too overwhelmingly large so as to spill out of his hands. He leans down to give each nub a gentle suck, before pulling off and blowing across them softly, watching them grow stiff to the coldness.

Ginny whines, waking up from her deep slumber. She brings her hands up to Harry's head, tugging him down to engage in a slow, melting kiss.

Harry meets her demand, allowing all worries and thoughts for the day to fade from his mind.

. . .

Afterwards, Ginny cuddles up to him, bringing her head to lay upon his chest. "Good morning to you, too," she says teasingly.

Harry laughs, placing a kiss upon the crown of her head before fully engulfing her small body into his arms. A comfortable silence rests between them before he murmurs, "Don't forget."

Ginny stiffens in his arms, biting her lip. She curls her hands as she fights the sadness and confusion that brought her down from her high so quickly. She slowly relaxes, though, as if in acceptance. "Of course," she replies.

Harry gently tugs her chin to look straight at her bright brown eyes. "I'm sorry." He leans down to kiss her nose. "Someday," he promises.

Ginny smiles weakly at him. She knows that Harry just needs time, so she's going to give him that. She loves him, after all. And she says so. "I love you."

"Love you, too," Harry says in earnest.

They lie in rest for a couple of minutes before arising from the bed to prepare for the day.

Ginny pretends not to notice Harry's keen stare as she swallows down the potion for birth control, swallowing with the bitter liquid her discomfort, dejection, and longing.

°.

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"Bye, Gin!" Harry calls out. The redhead approaches him quickly to give him a goodbye kiss. Harry walks out of their apartment with a promise to be home as soon as his shift ends, before securing the alley beside their building and Apparating away, safe from prying eyes.

He arrives at the Auror Office, greeting his coworkers as he makes his way to his station. A red paper plane zooms straight to the dark-haired wizard's face, almost crashing into his nose if not for his fast catch. The color coded note denotes that his team has a mission outside of their usual operations.

Deft fingers unravel the folds of the red parchment, brilliant green eyes reading the short note before channeling a current of magic through his fingers, sending the piece of paper up into flames. Harry lets himself sigh in anticipation, if only for the break in the monotony, as he makes his way to the Head Auror's office.

"Come in," a deep, rumbling voice answers Harry's knocks.

Harry enters the room, closing the door behind him. "You sent for me, sir?"

"Yes, yes, take a seat, Harry." The robust Auror gestures towards the armchair in front of his desk, which Harry takes. "I'm sending your unit with a team from the Detection and Confiscation Office," Robards says crisply, cutting to the chase.

"Defective artifacts?" Harry raises an eyebrow, seeing photos of the objects as he scans the mission description in the folder Robards handed over to him. "Why the need for us?"

"Page three, seventh paragraph," Robards indicates.

Harry flips to the third page, and spots:

'_...possible dark artifacts smuggled with the defective devices... repository full of the identified objects near the sea at muggle Brighton and Hove... the site is sentineled at all times..._'

"Ah," he acknowledges.

"Indeed," Robards agrees. "This should be an easy mission for you and your team. The lawbreakers in question are some peddlers from the East." The man gives the younger wizard a stern look. "I expect this mission to be smooth-sailing, yes?"

"Of course." Harry gives his superior a wan smile, before standing up. "If that's all?"

The man grunts and goes back to his paperwork.

Harry exits the office and walks to his own. Once he's seated into his chair, he brings out his wand and taps it unto a small, bronze emblem at the edge of his desk. The emblem lights up, signalling that other similar emblems on his teammates' desks have received the notice and are lighting up as well.

It isn't later than a few moments when Ron, Pucey, Dunbar and Belby file into his office. Pucey leans on the wall, along with Belby, as Ron and Dunbar sit at the chairs in front of his desk. Harry himself remains seated on his chair, hands clasped firmly in front of him as he throws his team a smile.

"We're leaving for a mission at 1330 hours," he starts, "together with another unit. We're taking a few immigrants into custody for smuggling and distributing some shoddy goods and a few dark artifacts. You can find all the mission details here."

He unclasps his hands and waves his wand to send the stack of photocopied mission folders floating to the four.

"Any questions?" Harry asks, eyeing his best friend in amusement as Ron wriggles in his seat. The ginger-haired wizard is probably as excited as Harry is for the mission, even though it would only require a simple catch-to-apprehend procedure. They haven't had a break in their routine for a long while, after all.

"Nope!" Ron answers, grinning.

"None," Dunbar replies, laughing at the animated expression on Ron's face

Both Belby and Pucey echo the sentiment. Pucey snorts, arms uncrossing and falling to his sides as he stands up from his position. Belby just smiles kindly at them all.

"Well!" Harry claps his hands together, a grin on his face as he eyes them. "If you don't mind, I have paperwork I want to finish before lunch."

°.

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The five of them, along with a group of four wizards and two witches from the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects (a name which Harry always thought is a mouthful, and has taken it upon himself to shorten into DaCO) arrive a few meters away from the repository site behind a brick-red building.

"We'll scout." Harry inclines his head to his unit. "Stay here until we come back," he instructs the other wizards and witches.

"I'll come with," a blonde witch says, stepping forward and breaking from her group. "I need to get a feel of the wards before I bring them down."

"Alright," Harry says with a nod. He turns to catch Belby's eyes.

Belby steps towards the other team and smiles. He brings his wand up as if to say, '_Nothing harmful here_,' before casting _Cave Inimicum_ around the small area to protect the ones left behind.

Harry casts the Supersensory and Disillusionment charms on himself. The others follow his example, before they all walk out to scour the site.

The warehouse is large, but Harry guesses that it will be larger on the inside to hold the number of smuggled devices that the mission stats suggested. It seems decrepit and abandoned, with the rusty metal sheets that serve as the building's walls vandalized by muggle grafitti, and the dank, dirty smell that lingers in unoccupied places.

To a muggle's eye, the warehouse is just that: a warehouse. Vacant, deserted, and forgotten.

The group, however, feels the repelling wards and protection charms cast on the building. The facade also gives off the vibe of a large-scale glamour charm, perhaps as part of its defense against the muggles that live around the area.

Harry feels the humming of the wards and weighs their strength. From their different frequencies, Harry surmises that there are about five layers of wards encompassing the building.

The wizard identifies around three magical presences by the front entrance of the repository. There are also over a dozen other magical auras scattered inside the building. Two doors by the back, heavily guarded as well. No windows.

When he's done circling the area, Harry brings the tip of his wand to touch the small emblem pinned to the cuff of his left sleeve. He arrives at the small alley to see Ron and Belby already there, together with the blonde wards expert. After a minute or two, Dunbar enters the small enclosure, followed last by Pucey.

"_Salvio hexia_," Harry murmurs, bringing his wand up while circling the area where they arrived. "Okay, five?" Harry guesses, looking at the blonde witch.

"Yes," she confirms. "Muggle and wizard repelling, a wide-ranging stasis ward that lines the faces and the top of the building, and some variations of protective wards. Easy enough to dismantle," she adds, smiling lightly at Harry's questioning look.

"Good," Harry says, smiling back. He turns serious in the next second. "I sensed about three wizards by the front entrance, and a pair for each of the doors at the back."

"It seems our smugglers aren't taking any chances," Dunbar inserts, a stern look to her blue eyes.

"As they should be," a dark-skinned wizard from DaCO speaks up. He is tall and heavily built, and looks the eldest among the group. A frown mars his forehead as he says, "There were dark artifacts mixed in with the other defective ones. Their product seal was sighted at the remote communities around Britain. If they aren't apprehended now, lots of wizards and witches could be buying dangerous objects in the future."

Harry nods his head in agreement. He quickly creates and discards game plans in his head as to how to disable the wizards so that the DaCO officers can safely confiscate and relocate the items inside the warehouse.

After a few moments, he comes to a final plan. "We're going to split into two groups. The first group—that's Pucey, Ron and me—will attack one of the entrances at the back, after the wards are dismantled," here, Harry directs a look at the blonde witch, who nods in assent. "The guards at the other entrances may have left their stations by then, but the second group—the rest of you—should wait for my signal before coming in through the front entrance."

"Cause a ruckus at one end and sneak in at the other?" another wizard from DaCO pipes up. He looks like a new recruit, by the looks of his young, lively face.

Harry smirks. "Pretty much. Stay Disillusioned till you see my signal."

The first group approaches the back quickly, the blonde witch running alongside them. She brings her hands up, wand clutched tightly in her grip, and starts quietly chanting spells to unravel the wards surrounding the place.

Harry exhales silently through his mouth, in an attempt to tame the excitement racing through his entire body. His muscles contract, his knees bend and his feet shift apart in preparation for a sprint after the wards break down. He swipes his thumb along the smooth wood of his wand, before shifting his grip and pointing the wand upwards.

He sees Pucey copy his stance by the side. The wards fall. The dark-eyed wizard intones, "_Repello Muggletum!_"

Harry erects an Anti-Apparition ward just as speedily. He waits until the blonde witch disappears out of sight before casting a _Deprimo_ at one of the rusty heavy duty doors. The spell blasts through the door, creating a moderately sized hole. He waits until the the door clicks open from the inside before shouting, "_Confringo!_"

The door flies off its hinges and disintegrates. The wizards from the other side fly back as well, sporting bleeding wounds on their faces and arms from the explosion, out cold.

Harry casts a full body-bind at the unconscious wizards. He enters the warehouse and turns, seeing guards from the other back entrance rushing towards him.

"Idiots," he mutters, bringing his wand up to cast a nonverbal stunner at one of the approaching wizards. He dodges a curse thrown at him by the other man by crouching down. He spins, stretching his right leg out to swipe at the legs of the lunging man.

The wizard falls heavily down. Harry spies Ron and Pucey quietly entering the other entrance from the corners of his eyes.

"_Petrificus Totalus,_" he says, pointing his wand at the rising wizard. He stuns him as well, levitating him to lie unconscious by his comrades. Harry conjures rope and secures it tight around the four, before leaving to join his team mates.

By then, almost all of the smugglers are congregating at the back, fighting the Aurors. Harry shoots a stream of colored smoke to the exhaust fans to signal the other group to come in.

Outside, Dunbar sees the red smoke, then turns from looking out at the corner to nod at Belby.

"Come on." Belby gestures for the rest of the group to move forward.

Both of the Aurors lead the group to the front entrance, wands up and ready. Dunbar flashes the blasting curse at the doors, swiftly summoning an aluminum sheet she spotted by the side of the dilapidated building to shield them from stray pieces of metal.

They charge forward, firing spells and curses left and right. Belby stands by the group, fighting off wizards that approach them, while Dunbar moves further into the warehouse to meet with the rest of their team.

The DaCO officers start casting charms around the objects to prevent them from imploding from the pressure of space travel, before transporting them out of the repository crate by crate. They move quickly and efficiently, trusting the Aurors to protect their backs.

After a few minutes, they've managed to clear out a fourth of the massive warehouse.

°.

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Almost all of the smugglers are incapacitated by some point. The first rush of adrenaline leaves Harry, feeling himself becoming more and more exasperated and almost disappointed as time wore on. None of the wizards presented much of a challenge to him, as evidenced by their rapid defeat by his wand.

He watches with annoyed amusement as one of the Asian wizards falls down into a hidden hole in the ground, which he created with a well-placed _Defodio_ earlier. He douses himself with a modified version of the shield charm, feeling the magic crawl along and stick to his skin, before approaching the hole to look down at the fallen wizard.

"Comfy?" Harry snipes slyly at the enraged wizard, wriggling his fingers in a mock wave. The wizard fires an angry-looking curse at him, which is easily deflected by his previously cast _Protego_ charm. Harry points his wand down and swiftly stuns the man.

He barely manages to secure the man in a full body-bind before he flies from his place, landing roughly at a pile of crates at the other side of the room. Harry's earlier relaxed demeanor is quickly overcome by seriousness, firing off a curse at the direction where he thinks his attacker is.

'_Bloody fucking hell_,' Harry curses inwardly at himself. '_Why the bloody fuck did I bring my guard down? Stupid!_'

A bright, violet light zooms straight at him. Harry jumps up into a crate, narrowly avoiding the exploding curse. Another angry-looking spell shoots at his place, which Harry efficiently deflects with his wand. He hurtles his own curse at the attacker before jumping off the crate and doing a back flip, landing in a crouch behind the stack of boxes.

The dark-haired wizard moves, careful to hide himself among the towering crates. He peeks around the corner of one box and instantly twists his body out of the way of a hex. He throws his own spell back, following it up with a blind _Expulso_.

The destructive spell blows up plenty of the wooden cases, sending a flurry of dust and splinters up into the air and impending their vision. Harry maneuvers around the boxes, holding his sleeve up to his nose to prevent inhaling any of the dust. He spots a moving figure to his right.

"_Locomotor Mortis_," Harry hisses, watching as the figure goes down. The man struggles to release himself from the leg-locker curse.

Before Harry can cast a _Stupefy_, the man manages to dispel the curse and stand upright. The dust settles around them, and Harry can finally see who his attacker is.

He is clearly Asian, with narrow, black eyes that taper at the ends. His hair is black and long, tied into a neat braid at the nape of his neck. His slender body is carefully hunkered down into a defensive stance, a staff held horizontally in front of his face.

Harry wonders where the Asian wizard's wand is, before his unspoken question is answered when the man twirls the staff above his head and the rings connected to the top end of the staff begin to glow.

"_Yah!_" The foreign man throws the glowing spell at him. Harry brings himself out of his surprise fast enough to block the attack.

They continue fighting for a couple of minutes, using the crates around them as shields and as projectiles.

Harry levitates a small crate and forcefully swings his wand arm towards the black-eyed man. The crate crashes into the wall as the smuggler dives to the side, scattering wood and what looked like sneakoscopes across the floor.

The man seems to have injured his leg with his dive. Harry takes the opportunity presented to him.

"_Oppugno!_" Harry shouts, directing the splinters of wood towards the man. The man summons a shield, but not fast enough to block the splinters that dug into his arm. A particularly large piece of wood pierces through his left eye.

The black-eyed foreigner screams in outrage, his remaining eye spitting fire as he glares at Harry. He wrenches out the piece of wood from his eyeball socket, pulling off the detached eyeball that came with it and placing it back into the gouge without so much as a grunt.

Harry cringes at the bloody sight, his face twisting into a grimace. The man starts chanting something in an unfamiliar language, whisking his staff above his head while pulling himself up into a kneeling position. The sclera of his eye starts to spread, eventually engulfing everything until only white gazed at the stock-still Auror. His chants become louder and faster as the staff above his head evolves into a golden blur to Harry's bewildered stare.

Harry feels a spark of fear ignite in his bones. He feels his joints lock and his muscles tense as he staggers to discover how to respond. His eyes are widened to extreme proportions as he watches the wizard in front of him practically erupt into rays of light.

He has never seen nor experienced anything like this. Even when he had witnessed Dumbledore and Voldemort in their duel of explosive power, never had the magic felt so _potent_, so _pure_.

"_**Tsag khugatsaa, oron zai, zamnal. Khuvi ayaa, od, shinechlekheer.**_ _**Ni zövkhön kharankhui tüüniig taitgaruulj chadna on khürtel ene ni khümüünii bodgali taivan bus baikh boltugai!**_" the foreign wizard roars, gripping his staff tight in both hands. With a snarl, he brings the staff down, the _clink_ of the rings deafening in the sudden silence.

Harry holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. For a few moments, nothing did. He lifts his wand up to stun the man, but he suddenly finds himself falling to his knees as the earth quakes.

"Harry!" he hears distant voices call, unheeded in the ominous sight before him. His green eyes dilate as they follow the path of an emerging crack on the pavement, slowly making its way to him from the wickedly grinning wizard. A spike of pain lances through his head, not unlike—

_Not unlike the pain he experienced when he and Voldemort touched_.

He gasps, feeling his throat close up and his lungs feel like they were being squeezed. His vision seems to darken, but then he realizes that the atmosphere itself has darkened, preceding the minacious sight of a horde of Lethifolds crawling out of the chasm. The wraith-like beasts swarm towards Harry, black wispy cloaks brushing across the burning skin of the wizard, as if to taste before feasting on his human flesh.

Harry writhes, struggling to push the beasts off him, trying to think of any spell to drive the carnivorous monsters away. They are related to Dementors, aren't they? If so—

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The earth quakes again, and a fiery light bursts through the crack to engulf him in heat. The Lethifolds suddenly disappear, as if they were never even there.

A string of images that he doesn't recognize flash by in his vision, speedy yet very, very clear.

Harry blinks his watery eyes open. Huh. He never noticed that he closed them. Then,

shrieks of a name

a cackle of menacing laughter

_white noise_

nothing.

He screams.

°.

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_hfaiehgknngrhhjhnnannnfhio_

_jklhjkkyuxsgopc_

_w ..._

_word. World._

_self_

_he_

_Self. Himself. Human. Wizard. Boy Who Lived_—

_NO_

_Self. Himself. Human. Wizard. Savior._

_... feel_

_The only thing he feels_—feel?

_What is feeling?_

_Nothingness._

_Forget._

°.

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A chill seeps into the bones of the unmoving figure. Harry shivers, waking up to a fogginess that seems to crowd into his head. He curls into himself, wanting to go back to that blissful darkness that encased him in his sleep.

It's a long while before he recognizes the pitter-patter of raindrops. He smells the refreshing clarity of water, and shivers again as the cool humidity caresses his bare skin.

Bare skin.

His eyes flash open at that.

The naked wizard is startled into an upright position when he sees the bare, worn feet in front of his face. His brilliant green eyes trace the body in front of him; from the calloused toes, to the white, untarnished robes, up to the face of the figure.

"Gah!" Harry splutters, scrambling to get away from the Asian wizard.

The wizard grins, but without the malice that had plagued him from their battle. Both of his eyes are intact, as well. He steps closer to the sprawled young man. "Hello there, Harry Potter," his accented voice greets.

"Bloody hell! Stay away from me," Harry demands, trying not to think of his nudity. He darts his eyes around, feeling a note of panic rise within him when he realizes that he is not in the warehouse anymore. "Where am I?"

"I think you know the answer to that," the man says.

"King's Cross Station," Harry guesses, remembering his time in limbo with his late mentor. He carefully stands up, discarding his embarrassment over his nudity in favor of trying to take control of his situation. "Am I dead? Why am I here?"

"Because you both want and need to be here," the foreign wizard answers cryptically.

'_What the hell does that mean?_' Harry bites back his frustration and inwardly reminds himself that he doesn't have his wand. Instead, he asks, "Why are you here with me? Who are you?"

The long-haired man stands tall, hands clasped firmly at his back, an odd, genial smile hitching up the corners of his narrow eyes. "I am everything, and nothing at all."

"Stop playing with me," Harry snaps, clenching his fists to prevent himself from physically lashing out at the stranger. "Who are you?"

"Courteousness is a virtue, young one," the wizard admonishes. "But very well. I am **Rakshaka**." His voice booms as he utters his name.

Harry's green eyes narrow as an inexplicable current of power blows through the area at the statement. The taller man's voice seemed to have become a convergence of differing frequencies, both in magic and in sound. It was peculiar yet—magnificent.

"Who are you?" Harry persists, never taking his glare off the man who inflicted so much pain on him just that day. "Why am I here?"

"To mortals, I am Death," the man replies, tone ominous and foreboding. A grin takes over his mouth, much more fitting than the timid smile earlier; sinister mirth dancing in his black eyes as he gestures grandly to a loud, approaching train. "Yet, this time, I have come to assist in bringing you back to Life."

Harry gazes at him in disbelief, before pitching a quick, wary glance at the nearing vehicle. "What do you mean?" he asks, confusion and fear coloring his voice. The man—the _being_ in front of him looks so different from how he perceived Death to be; but his mere aura suggests that he speaks the truth, and that makes Harry nauseous with the implications.

"You have passed the test, Master of Death," the being intones.

Harry stiffens at the title. "I wasn't aware that I was taking one," he replies cautiously.

"And if you had failed, you would never have been," the being says, grin widening and consequently showing off his sharp, white teeth.

Harry swallows, not knowing how to react to his situation. He latches on to the only positive thing that the mysterious being has said so far. "Are you saying that I could go back?"

The being hums. "Yes, go _back_. Go back to when you truly belong."

An ounce of suspicion sparks in Harry's mind at the strangeness of Death's wording, but he attributes it to the general theme of _strange_ that has governed this whole meeting from the start. He doesn't allow himself to release a sigh of relief. His wariness hasn't gone away; and for good reason. "I was once told that the train only goes to three destinations: Somewhere, Elsewhere, and Nowhere. I couldn't possibly go back to my world through riding it, can I?"

"The wizard who had told you that was a fool," the being criticizes, a sneer twisting his thin lips. "As the Master of _my_ power, you are entitled to certain... privileges. Privileges that no other can enjoy. You can choose to go back, to go forward, or to wherever and whenever you wish. Although," the man smirks, "choice is a rather fickle word."

"How so?" Harry inquires, absently watching the train as it slows down to a stop. The doors slide open, inviting anyone to come inside.

"The train can only take you to where you really want to be."

"How's that bad?" Harry asks, brows furrowing as he turns back to face the white-robed being. He almost jumps when he finds himself just centimeters apart from Death.

Death leans his face down towards Harry's, till the green-eyed wizard feels the being's cold breath fan across his face. White bleeds out into his dark eyes, until only eerie white orbs stare back at Harry. That taunting, menacing grin is on his face again, and he chimes, "Well, why don't you go find out?"

"What do you m—_gah!_" Bony hands barely touched Harry's chest before a blast of power sends the green-eyed wizard careening towards the open, waiting doors.

Harry collapses with an _oomph!_ on the train floor. The doors slide closed, and the train starts its journey to an unknown destination.

Death only smiles wickedly.

°.

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"Harry!" various voices shriek. Harry's team mates rush to him when the green-eyed wizard collapses down to his knees.

Harry's pupils are wide, and his eyes dart around as if he were hallucinating. Dunbar reaches out a hand to touch him, when Harry shouts.

"_Expecto Patronum!_"

The Aurors jump back in surprise. They watch in wariness and confusion as their leader summons his Patronus, for seemingly no reason at all.

Harry's physical body screams, pain racking through his every nerve. He collapses to the floor, burrowing and curling his fingers into his hair, pulling and tugging relentlessly. His teeth gnash together, biting his tongue in the process. Blood starts oozing out from the wound, trickling horrifyingly down his chin. A seizure takes hold of his body, leaving him a thrashing mess on the floor.

"Mate!" Ron yells, lunging towards his best friend. He flounders for a bit, not knowing how to handle the convulsing wizard. He turns panicked eyes to his other team mates, who approached their leader as quickly as they can.

They don't try to restrain the dark-haired man, fearing that it would injure him more. Instead, Belby levitates their leader, removing him from the hard surface of the floor and thereby preventing Harry from bashing his own head.

Dunbar immediately sends her Patronus to St. Mungo's. She swallows a hard lump in her throat as she watches Harry's suffering, feeling absolutely helpless. They all know the basic healing spells, but nothing prepared them for a case such as this.

Pucey whirls around and restrains the Asian wizard, snarling. "What did you do to him?"

The man's maniacal grin widens, yellowish teeth stained red from blood, but he does not answer.

The furious Auror digs his wand up against the stranger's throat. He repeats in a threatening hiss, "What did you do to him?!" an angry pulse from his wand throwing the long-haired wizard onto a tall stack of crates. Pucey approaches the man in quick strides and curls his fist into the man's robes.

The man cackles, unmindful of the blood that has started to trickle down his nostrils. His cruel black eyes glint smartly at the Auror. "I've only given him what he wants," he rumbles, his diction noticeably accented but understandable. He pauses, before continuing, "And I've only given him what he deserves."

"He doesn't deserve that, you bloody bastard!" Pucey slams the wizard against the fallen crates. The hard knock to his head renders the man unconscious, and he falls limp into Pucey's arms.

Pucey throws the man to the floor in disgust, before pulling himself together and trying to calm his rage with several intakes of air. He confiscates the wizard's staff, eyeing it with distrust before handing it over to Dunbar so she could store it into her bottomless pouch. He body-binds the wizard, tying him together with the other captured smugglers. The dark-eyed Auror pulls out a net and drapes it over the knocked out men. It's a Portkey, and soon enough the bodies disappear in a whirl of space.

He turns to find his team mates' eyes on him, empathetic and understanding. They all want to kill the man who caused their leader pain. Enemy to the criminal he may be, Harry doesn't deserve being put through the painful curse the man had cast on him.

A series of _crack_s signals the arrival of a team of mediwizards. The blue-robed medics cast successive diagnostic spells over the now still Auror, healing his tongue and the few wounds he was inflicted with. They cast a _Scourgify_ to clean the blood covering the dark-haired wizard. Pucey recognizes the crimson Blood-Replenishing Potion that a mediwizard pours into Harry's mouth, as well as the bluish liquid of the Muscle Relaxant Potion. The mediwizard gently massages the savior's throat to help him swallow the medicine.

When the mediwizards deemed the unconscious patient safe to travel, they nod to his team, before Apparating out of the warehouse and presumably to St. Mungo's.

"Go," Belby encourages Weasley, who looks pale and worried. "We'll finish up here."

Weasley nods gratefully to them, before turning on his heel and Apparating out of the site.

They do finish up in a matter of minutes, the DaCO officers having continued with their tasks through the commotion. They erase any traces of magic in tense, solemn silence, before exiting the site and going back to the Ministry.

The remainder of Harry's unit reports directly to the Head Auror, recounting what happened at their mission. Robards dismisses them with a tired sigh, keenly discerning the worry of the Aurors for their incapacitated leader. He gives them permission to leave early, with a strict order to deposit the staff of the Asian wizard to their associate at the Department of Mysteries for inspection.

They leave with the assurance that the smugglers are in the holding cells beneath the Ministry, awaiting trial.

°.

.▿

ϟ

Ginny is in the middle of writing an article about the upcoming European Cup at the _Daily Prophet_ headquarters when she receives Ron's message.

"Harry's in the hospital, Ginny!" the corporeal Jack Russell terrier intones in Ron's voice. The Patronus dissipates after that, but the words still ring in Ginny's ears.

She drops her work to leave in haste, barely remembering to clock out. As soon as she reaches the building's lobby, she Apparates, mind only revolving around the fact that _Harry is hurt_.

"Oh, Harry!" she cries out, worry etched fiercely into her face as she rushes towards the unconscious wizard. She scans Harry's body for any visible injuries. She finds nothing, and that only worries her more because it means more than a physical injury.

"He's going to be fine, Ms. Weasley," a Healer reassures the distraught redhead, smiling to placate her. "Mr. Potter only needs to get some rest after the immense amount of stress he was put under. His vital signs are normal and he has no lasting injuries. We're only going to keep him here to monitor his health, and after a few days he'll be free to go."

At that, Ginny breathes a sigh of relief, though worry still clings to her heart. It's then that she sees her brother coming in through the door with a cup of juice. "Ron!"

"Ginny," Ron exclaims, placing his cup down at the bedside table and hugging his sister back when she rushes into his arms.

Ginny burrows into his chest before looking up with teary eyes. "I thought something really bad happened to Harry. What happened to him?" she asks, voice trembling.

Ron pats his sister awkwardly at the back, before clearing his throat and explaining, "We had a mission this morning. It was only supposed to be an easy one, but Harry got into a duel with this creepy foreign bloke." Ron shrugs. "It was a bloody scary fight, and Harry convulsed and hallucinated because of a curse the bloke had cast, but he seems okay now."

"Convulse?" Ginny asks, brows furrowing.

"Yeah," Ron replies flippantly. "It looked similar to the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, so we don't need to worry about anything beyond that." He flashes a grin at the short witch.

"I'm glad," Ginny murmurs, taking her place by Harry's bedside. She takes Harry's clammy hand into her own.

'_Everything's going to be okay_,' she reassures herself.

Unbeknownst to them, the green-eyed savior of the wizarding world has just boarded a train that will take him to the year 1942...

°.

.▿

ϟ

. . .

* * *

If you have read the R-18 part, can you please tell me what you thought of it? It was my very first time writing one, and I can't believe that it's even straight smut. （ つ﹏╰）

_**"Tsag khugatsaa, oron zai, zamnal. Khuvi ayaa, od, shinechlekheer. Ni zövkhön kharankhui tüüniig taitgaruulj chadna on khürtel ene ni khümüünii bodgali taivan bus baikh boltugai!" **_SHOULD mean: "Time, space, intertwine. Fate, stars, realign. May the soul of this man remain restless till only darkness can comfort him!" This is a phonetization of the actual symbols, which I didn't bother to include since not a lot of people can read them anyway. As you can see, I tried to segment the first part, since I know G**gle Translate is not exactly the most trustworthy translator. I know, I failed.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this! It took me hours to wring out everything, because I'm sick and my head hurts. On good news, my sem's finally over, yay! On bad news, my next sem starts a little over next week. I'm going to disillusion everyone and warn you now: Becoming a doctor is a lifelong vocation. It is _not_ an easy way to make money. It requires commitment and unfortunately, it also cuts my time for little of anything else.

That aside, please review! I love reading your comments and insights.

Much love. (ˆ⌣ˆԅ)


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